Amazing Nature Photos

Long Poem Topics

Check out these short poem topics. Find short poems by topic or form.

abortion absence
abuse addiction
adventure africa
age allah
allegory allusion
america analogy
angel anger
angst animal
anniversary anti bullying
anxiety appreciation
april arabic
art assonance
aubade august
autumn baby
bangla baptism
baseball basketball
beach beautiful
beauty bereavement
best friend betrayal
bible bio
bird birth
birthday black african american
blessing blue
boat body
books boxing day
boy boyfriend
break up bridal shower
brother bullying
business butterfly
cancer candy
car care
career caregiving
cat celebration
celebrity change
chanukah character
cheer up chicago
child child abuse
childhood children
chocolate christian
christmas cinco de mayo
cinderella city
class clothes
color columbus day
community computer
confidence conflict
confusion cool
corruption courage
cousin cowboy
crazy creation
crush cry
culture cute love
dad daffodils
dance dark
daughter day
death death of a friend
december dedication
deep depression
desire destiny
devotion discrimination
divorce dog
dream drink
drug earth
earth day easter
education emo
emotions encouraging
endurance engagement
england environment
epic eulogy
eve evil
fairy faith
family fantasy
farewell farm
fashion father
father daughter father son
fathers day fear
february feelings
film fire
firework first love
fish fishing
flower flying
food football
for children for her
for him for kids
forgiveness freedom
french friend
friendship fruit
fun funeral
funny funny love
future games
garden gender
giggle girl
girlfriend giving
god golf
good friday good morning
good night goodbye
gospel gothic
graduate graduation
grandchild granddaughter
grandfather grandmother
grandparents grandson
grave green
grief growing up
growth guitar
hair halloween
happiness happy
happy birthday hate
health heart
heartbreak heartbroken
heaven hello
hero high school
hilarious hindi
hip hop history
hockey holiday
holocaust home
homework hope
horror horse
house how i feel
howl humanity
humor humorous
hurt husband
hyperbole i am
i love you i miss you
identity image
imagery imagination
immigration independence day
innocence insect
inspiration inspirational
integrity international
internet introspection
ireland irony
islamic january
jealousy jesus
jewish jobs
journey joy
judgement july
june kid
kindergarten kiss
language leadership
leaving life
light little sister
london loneliness
lonely longing
loss lost
lost love love
love hurts lust
lyric magic
malayalam marathi
march marriage
math may
me meaningful
memorial day memory
men mental illness
mentor metaphor
middle school military
miracle mirror
miss you missing
missing you mom
money moon
morning mother
mother daughter mother son
mothers day motivation
mountains moving on
mum murder
muse music
my child my children
mystery myth
mythology name
native american natural disasters
nature new year
new years day new york
nice niece
night nonsense
nostalgia november
nursery rhyme obituary
ocean october
old onomatopoeia
pain paradise
parents paris
parody pashto
passion patriotic
peace people
perspective pets
philosophy places
planet poems
poetess poetry
poets political
pollution poverty
power prayer
prejudice preschool
presidents day pride
princess prison
proposal psychological
purple quinceanera
race racism
rain rainbow
rainforest rap
raven recovery from
red relationship
religion religious
remember remembrance day
repetition retirement
riddle rights
river romance
romantic rose
roses are red rude
sad sad love
satire scary
school science
science fiction sea
seasons self
senses sensual
september sexy
sick silence
silly silver
simile simple
sin sister
sky slam
slavery sleep
smart smile
snow soccer
social society
softball soldier
solitude sometimes
son song
sorrow sorry
soulmate sound
space spanish
spiritual spoken word
sports spring
star stars
storm strength
stress student
success suicide
summer sun
sunset sunshine
surreal sweet
symbolism sympathy
tamil teacher
teachers day technology
teen teenage
thank you thanks
thanksgiving thanksgiving day
tiger time
today together
travel tree
tribute true love
trust truth
universe uplifting
urban urdu
usa vacation
valentines day vanity
veterans day violence
visionary vogon
voice volleyball
voyage war
water weather
wedding wife
wind wine
winter wisdom
woman women
word play words
work world
world war i world war ii
write writing
yellow youth

Long Youth Poems

Long Youth Poems. Below are the most popular long Youth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Youth poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Teppo Gren | Details |

BIO T J GREN part 04 02 A dream come true

June 1975, Mount Druitt, Sydney, Australia

The autumn of 1975 went by with me concentrating on my university studies. I had also found a job as a builder’s laborer on a construction site.
At the end of June the Western Suburbs Finnish Club held their customary mid-summer night dance. In Australia it was winter, but in Finland the mid-summer at the end of June was a time for celebration. It marked the beginning of summer. It was in order to keep this tradition alive that the Wests club orga-nized a mid-summer night dance annually. I naturally attended the dance function as I did all the dances held by the club. Although there were not many girls of my age attending these functions it was still always nice to be with other Finns. This time there were two new girls at the dance. I had seen one of them from a distance the previous Sunday at baseball practice. I was attracted to her so when I got the chance I asked her for a dance: or was it that she asked me?

I found out from her that her name was Johanna and that she was the sister of Marko, who was in our folk dancing group. Her friend with her was an Aussie girl she knew. Every now and then the two of them would disappear outside for a while. During the evening I danced with her again and again when-ever I had a chance. Later in the evening whilst dancing with her she started pressing her body closer to mine and then she kissed me passionately on the lips right there in the middle of the dance floor. I felt somewhat embarrassed with other people watching us, including my mother, but better still I felt the pleasure of her kiss and feeling her body close to mine. This was the closeness I had hoped to feel for so long. This was the first time I had kissed a girl since kissing Linda at the age of thirteen six years earlier.

Johanna was quite nice looking. She had blonde shoulder length straight hair and a round face with nice features. She had a lovely smile and beautiful lips. Her breasts were well formed and slightly above av-erage in size. She was five feet five inches tall and had a nice, womanly figure with soft curves.

Johanna was a year and a half younger than me. She was seventeen, turning eighteen within a few weeks in August. Her star sign was Leo. Her family, apart from Marko, lived in Western Australia in Perth. She had only just come to Sydney a couple of weeks earlier and was staying at Marko’s place. I ended up driving her home and staying the night. Since Marko and his wife, Petra, knew me, they had no objec-tion for me to stay overnight instead of driving home to Mount Druitt. They liked me and they would’ve been quite happy to see me becoming an item with Johanna. The apartment they lived in wasn’t all that big, and a bed was made for me in the same room with Johanna. Marko made a passing comment before we retired that if he was me it wouldn’t take him long to slip into Johanna’s bed. I thought he was only joking and didn’t make much of it. I was a gentleman and I would take my time before imposing myself sexually on a girl. Nevertheless I enjoyed the long, intimate French kiss Johanna gave me before we went to sleep.

We spent the next day together and we started dating. She also joined our Wednesday evening folk dancing practice. Since Rita had stopped coming to folk dancing a few weeks after Easter, I still didn’t have a partner until now. And what a partner I had: my girlfriend. At the time when I met and became acquainted with Johanna I was still working as a builder’s laborer at the building site in Parramatta whilst I was also attending university. I was still able to make time to see Johanna. She was living in Summer Hill near Parramatta Road and it was on my way home from the university so on Tuesdays and Thursdays when I had Uni, I would try to get away early in order to see her. And of course we saw each other on Wednesdays for folk dancing practice and on the weekends.

Although Johanna was younger than me she had a lot more experience in adult life. She told me that she smoked dope and that’s why she went outside with her friend at the mid-summer night dance: to have a joint. She said that she couldn’t take the Finnish dancing without being high. Looking back I was totally inexperienced in everything when it came to learning the adult life and relationships. That was not a sur-prise considering my secluded life during my adolescence.

We spent as much time together as we could. On the weekends we would drive around in Sydney, stop somewhere at a park and walk along holding hands, and kiss gently every now and then. I didn’t worry about the little flaws which I considered that Johanna had; meaning smoking cigarettes, drinking and smoking dope. I was falling in love. This was the answer to all my dreams. I had a girlfriend of my own with whom I could share time with, and eventually go further. She was also a lot more experienced with kissing which wasn’t hard because I didn’t have any experience at all. She would kiss me softly and then with more passion, leading to French kiss. Sometimes she would suck on my lower lip. Alt-hough it was exciting it wasn’t all that pleasant as it also hurt a bit. She also gave me love bites and I learnt to do the same to her.

I was still being a gentleman and didn’t impose on her even though we had been dating for couple of weeks. I wanted to honor her and move slowly, meaning that I didn’t make any sexual advances, alt-hough I was very attracted to her and wanted to do so. Boy, was I naïve. To me everything was clear, black and white: we would court for a while before moving into a more deep involvement and then eventually we would get engaged and married: simple. To me it didn’t make a difference when we would move further to a sexual relationship. Johanna was my first girlfriend and I didn’t want anything spoiling our relationship. I felt deeply for her and looked forward to building a future with her.

Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Teppo Gren | Details |

BIO T J GREN part 04 01 Young Love Gone

January 1975, Mount Druitt, Sydney, Australia

At the end of 1974 high school was over, and it was time to start a new phase in life. Whether it would be a continuation of studies at University, or starting a working career would depend on the results of the Higher School Certificate. Whatever the case, finishing high school closed a chapter in my life. Carlingford high school had been a good experience for me.

At the start of the new year, I had everything going for me, except for that one thing that was nagging away at me: a deep, meaningful relationship. I was now eighteen years of age, turning nineteen in Febru-ary and I had not been kissed by a girl, or kissed a girl, since I was thirteen when I kissed with Linda. For many years I had been carrying the yearning for love: to hold someone lovingly in my arms, to caress and fondle a loved one. Looking back, I had lost my teenage years. The young love of a teenager could not be recovered. I had not experienced teenage love except in its negative form of rejection. I was total-ly naïve when it came to matters of the heart and sexuality. I had not received the education or the expe-rience received by most teenagers.

I had started work at the Penrith branch office of the Bank of New South Wales before Christmas. The banks were always looking for new young employees and for those who had completed their higher school certificate it was easy to get employed. It didn’t pay a lot, but it was a job that brought some in-come for the time being. The work was quite easy and the workmates were nice. The Penrith branch had near enough ten employees working under the supervision of the manager and the accountant who were the bosses. I was quite quick to learn whatever task I was given to do.

I had an interesting and flattering instance one day when we were having lunch in the room upstairs at the bank. One of my workmates at the bank was a young married woman perhaps a few years older than me. She started asking why I don’t have a girlfriend. She made positive comments on my looks and then continued the flattery by saying that if she wasn’t married she’d go for me. These kinds of positive comments had been long time coming. I realized that it was only a compliment and the intention was not for it to lead anywhere. It didn’t. I took the compliment at its true value. Perhaps there was still hope for me.

The job at the bank was something I wanted to do whilst waiting for the results to whether I’d be accepted to University. I had applied to a course in architecture in all the Universities that it was studied in. The first two options were a full-time four year course at Sydney University and University of New South Wales. The third option was a full-time course at the Sydney Institute of Technology and the fourth option was a part-time course over six years at the University of New South Wales.

I hadn’t applied for any other courses than the architectural courses available, so if I didn’t get accepted it would change my future plans completely, and I would need to consider making a career in banking. I received the results in middle of January and I was accepted on the part-time course at the University of New South Wales. Six years seemed a long time to study until I would graduate, but I was happy that I was able to scrape in.

At the bank they were preparing me to work as a teller. The next day after I had received notice of my acceptance to Uni, I notified the accountant and the manager at the bank that I would be leaving at the middle of February as I was accepted into University. They were very upset and said that didn’t I say at the interview that I wasn’t looking at continuing my studies. They were very disappointed and said that I could leave straight away. In essence they dismissed me on the spot. Losing the job immediately wasn’t such a big deal for me. It would’ve been nice to earn some money, but I was already looking forward to starting my archi-tecture studies, and it would be nice to have a few weeks’ break before the first semester began.

At the end of February I started studies at the University of New South Wales in Kensington. Because the course was a part-time course over six years, I had lectures only on two days of the week: on Tuesdays from 11 am to 9 pm and on Thursdays from 2 pm to 9 pm. By no means was the course easy, but I settled into studying quite well. We had a lot of exercises to do, so most of the other days I would work on them at home. Uni was different to high school. We had the freedom to attend lectures or not attend them, but if you started skipping too many classes you would quickly fall behind.

The University campus area was huge covering thirty-eight hectares of land and consisting of over sixty faculty buildings as well as open park areas. It took roughly fifteen minutes to walk from one extreme to the other. The University was one of the top Universities in Australia and the academic achievements there were well respected. The University was established in 1949 and had expanded rapidly to over twenty thousand students by the mid-seventies.

I was a Uni student at the University of New South Wales. How cool was that? I was proud of my achievement and I had everything set for me and life was going according to my dreams. Except that I was alone without a girlfriend. But I was confident that happiness would come my way soon. After all I was a pretty could catch for any girl: I was okay looking, I was smart, I was athletic, I was going to have a respected professional career, I had deep feelings, I wanted to be married and have a family. What more would a girl want? I dreamt my lifelong dream of a meaningful relationship, the ensuing bliss and happiness that would lead to marriage and children.

Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

The Sooner Recruit

Fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan;
And watched thousands of recruits try to make my Sooners Team.
Often, I’ve enviously wondered what it must be like
To be a touted Sooners recruit, living out his dream.

He’d had a great career through high school;
Made good grades, was a football star, played baseball too.
Coach said college recruiters were watching closely;
So, he tried his very best to make his dream come true.

You see, he’d played on the L’il Sooners as a kid;
Started getting serious about the game when he was only eight
Played with older, bigger boys and practiced hard;
Always told his friends, “To be a Sooner, ya gotta play great”.

Oh yes, his parents raised a football player;
And, even more important, a Sooners fan;
But he wanted more, to be a Sooner,
To feel the glory raining down from the stands. 

Now, the Sooners’ Head Coach is in his living room.
“Son, you’ve got talent.  We think you fit our scheme.
We’re offering you a scholarship, an opportunity
To be an important member of our great Sooners Team”.

His mother smiles her biggest smile.
His father nods proudly and pats him on the knee.
“Lord knows, son, it’s a dream come true.
Go be the very best Sooner you can be”.

He walks into the locker room,
Not quite sure what to expect;
But sure that to play for the Sooners
He will first have to earn respect.

He looks each man straight in the eye - 
Other recruits, trainers, assistants, and every coach.
“Be proud, but respectful”, his mother had said;
Your character, more than your performance, must be above reproach”.

His handshake is firm and he smiles.
“Only one chance for a first impression”, his father had said;
"Always put yourself in positive light, on and off the field.
That’s what it will take to play for the mighty Big Red”.

He meets so many other recruits, each one a high school star.
He’s played against a few and knows they share his dream.
And, to a man, each knows before any chance for Glory,
He first must prove worthy to play for this Sooners Team.

He knows a few will fail to meet the coaches’ expectations.
For some, the scout team will be their fate.
Many will suit up, but rarely play.
Only the very best will ever dare to be great.

Coach says, “If every man learns and executes when called on,
Then this team, we Sooners, will win a lot of games;
But, win or lose, if you play hard and give your very best,
You’ll never have to hang your heads in shame”.

“But gentlemen, with or without you, this team will win.
Every season, the Sooners strive to win it All.
So, listen, work hard, and prepare yourselves.  Each game is war...
And you must be ready when Victory calls”.

Through grueling practices, he finds himself.
As he walks to class, his closest friends are aches and pains;
But, just the other day, Coach helped him up, smiled, and patted his helmet.
“You’re doin’ fine, son.  Keep pushin’.  Remember, no pain, no gain”.

He sees his name on the "open scrimmage" roster for the very first time.
It’s a moment he’ll never forget, another milestone in his dream.
He calls his Mom and Dad, knowing they’ll tell his family and his friends.
He hopes they’ll actually see him play, proof he’s made the Team.

As he suits up for the last pre-season open scrimmage,
He wonders if the coaches would really let a freshman play at all;
But Coach puts him in for eight plays against the first team;
He makes two great open-field tackles and intercepts the ball.

He barely hears the roar of the crowd, as the whole defense “gives him five”.
He’s so excited, he forgets to ask if he can keep that ball.
Fans are buzzing, “Did you see that hit”!?  “Who is that kid”!?
“Will he red shirt or will Coach let him play this fall”? 

He sees his name in the Sunday paper, hears it on local sports.
He’s happy, but he doesn’t let it go to his head.
He keeps his focus and uses it as motivation.
After all, he wants to start one day for the mighty Big Red.

Yes, we’ll hear more of this young recruit.
Perhaps, one day he’ll be the hero of the game.
A seasoned veteran, maybe All Conference or even All American,
Who’s tasted Victory many times and helped glorify the Sooners’ name.

Oh yes, there have been so many who’ve aspired;
But many fewer who’ve actually made our Sooners Team.
They are our heroes, each and every one;
For it’s through their accomplishments, we fans can live the dream.

Billy Vessels, Steve Owens, Billy Sims, and Jason White,
The Selmons, Little Joe, the Boz, Josh Heupel, and “Q”
They, and so many others, were once touted Sooners recruits;
Who set a higher mark and built the Tradition that is OU.

So, c’mon! c’mon! all you great young football players!
Dedicate your talents to OU’s Team and OU’s Fans.
Make Oklahoma’s Owen Field your Field of Dreams,
And feel the Glory raining down from the stands. 

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Isaiah Zerbst | Details |

Highland Lassie

Inspired by the painting "Highland Lassie" (1871) by Thomas Faed.

(Verse One; In introduction to Cailin)
Walkin' on the highways, searchin' down the byways,
Tromps a lonely figure on the Highland roads;
Peerin' from the Highdown, breezin' through the lake town,
Askin' of a question erry where he goes:
(Chorus; Cailin, followed by some villagefolk)
And it's, "Marry, gather 'round! for she hasna' yet been found;
I come lookin' for the truest lass, as only one can be:
I've a letter do deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er
To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea."
"Here's a lass," they proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,
And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep:
Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow,
But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep."

(Verse Two; Cailin's thoughts)
Some of them were pouty, others even dowdy;
"These," he thought, "would never do in fifteen years:
Beauty on the outside, nothin' on the inside,
Leaves a girl with nothin' when it fades to tears."
(Chorus; Cailin's continuing journey)
Trav'lin' all around, for she hasna' yet been found;
He's come lookin' for the truest lass, as only one can be:
With a letter do deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er
To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea." 
"Here's a lass," they proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,"
But you canna' tell the fairest one except you see them all:
And the lassies sweetly smile, for this stranger to beguile,
As 'e treads throughout the Highlands from the winter to the fall.

(Verse Three; Cailin's travels and troubles)
From the banks of Lomon', up to Durness roamin',
How's a wight to judge betwixt a thousand score?
Steps were waxing weary, days were growing dreary,
'Till 'e saw a lass 'e hadna' met before.
(Chorus; Cailin, to a lass called Ellsie and her villagefolk)
And it's, "Marry, gather 'round, for the lassie here is found!
I 'ave searched and found the truest lass, as only one can be:
Here the letter I deliver; as you see, it says to give 'er
To the fairest Highland lassie from Loch Leven to the sea. 
"Here's a lass," I proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,
And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep:
Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow,
But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep."

(Verse Four; Ellsie's villagefolk reply in confusion)
Then they said, "Oh, please, Sir, don't you taunt and tease 'er,
Caint you tell she's plainer e'en than Skye down dell?
Caint you tell you've pained 'er? don't do that again, Sir,
Lest you 'ave a reason, and if so, pray tell."
(Chorus; Cailin's reply, followed by Ellsie reading the letter)
"O'er the braes an' through the moor, I 'ave trode my walkers sore,
All to find the truest lassie in the Highlands boggy peat;
And the truest lass is fair, for the true shall never wear,
So I say that here's the truest, fairest lass I've chanced to meet."
Then she opened up the scroll, and she read it to the full,
And for those who chance to wonder, I shall quote you what she read:
"When the fairest lass I find, if our wishes are aligned,
I should wish to know thee better, lass, and then, perhaps, to wed."

(Verse Five; Ellsie's reply to the letter)
Then she said, "Oh, come, Sir; don't be sad or glum, Sir;
Meet my father, mother, and my sisters small:
Soon the bells were ringin', people gladly singin'
"Here's the lad who worked to find the best of all."
(Chorus, which Ellsie's villagefolk sing at the wedding)
"O'er the braes an' through the moor, 'e 'as trode 'is walkers sore,
All to find the truest lassie in the Highlands boggy peat;
And the truest lass is fair, for the true shall never wear,
So I say that here's the truest, fairest lass I've chanced to meet. 
"Here's a lass," we proudly say, "fair as June and sweet as May,
And it's sure that she's the fairest in the Highland mountains steep:
Through the heather you may go, climb the mountains capped with snow,
But you'll never find a better lass on which your eyes to peep."

Note: the verses are written using trochaic feet, meaning that they begin with a stressed syllable, followed by an unstressed, and so on repeatedly. The fifth foot (syllables nine and ten) in the second and fourth lines of the verses is a spondee, meaning two stressed syllables in one foot. I mention this for ease in correct reading. An example of this same device is "Since the Savior Found Me" by Edgar J. Haskins, (in last line of verses and refrain).

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Darian Rehder | Details |

Love, Death, and Rebirth

The signs started in December
When she started waking up in tears each night
She was a normal girl with dark brown hair and darker brown eyes
She had plenty of friends and a loving family with just one thing missing
Her father. 

Days passed by and turned into weeks but only felt like a few seconds
Her life just whizzed by faster and faster until it was just a whirr in front of her eyes
Darkness filtered into her heart and mind until she didn't know if she could go on
But she had to. She couldn't let her mother and her sister drown in this same pain
She wouldn't let them.

She pushed all the darkness into the depths of her own heart
In hopes to save the hearts of the two people she had left
Because what else was there to live for now?
The rest of her world had crashed and her mother and sister was all that was left 
She wouldn't let them drown in pain too. 

She watched as they started to heal in her loving arms
Their hearts started to lighten up once more
But hers was just as dark as it was before 
And growing darker day by day 
But she wouldn't let that stop her. 

Suddenly a year had passed... and then two 
It only seemed like seconds to her but everyone else started moving on
Her mother and sister no longer needed her nurturing care
But she needed someone to hold on to

With nothing left for her to take control of, the dark pushed past her boundries 
It found a way into her soul
Until all she could see was dark and no light 
But her mother and sister were healed now
They didn't understand

The tears came back and engulfed her soul
Bit by bit until she wasn't sure why she was still alive
The grief took over like knives 
Piercing her skin over and over and over
It hurt so much.

She started to wonder what it'd look like to be dead
She could see him again if she was
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to endure this pain?
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to live knowing she'd never see him again?
It would.

So she started to hate herself
All that negative energy was starting to take toll
Everyone around her was breathing while she suffocated more and more by the second
She wished she'd just choke already instead of living in constant pain
If no one would put her out of her misery, she'd have to do it herself

She couldn't see any light anymore
So she grabbed the pill bottle off the shelf and just hoped it wouldn't take long to die
Deep down she still had a spark of light, but she just couldn't find it 
And now it was too late in her mind to change, to turn back and try to look deeper
She was done living.

That's when people started to notice that everything wasn't as peaceful as it seemed
They started to see how deeply depressed she had become
They wanted to help her see the light again before it was too late 
So they sent her away to see doctors and to take pills to make everything better
It was a start.

She didn't see a change at first but suddenly she could think clearly
Maybe what they were doing was actually going to help her see the light again
Yes, she still wanted to die, but maybe that wasn't the only option anymore
They cared,  and behind all their own problems they were trying to understand
They really were trying

Six months longer she would be treated and cared for
Until suddenly she was sent home from her treatment and care with a smile on her face
She had a new perspective
Someone had helped her ignite that spark in her heart until it was a glowing ember
She had been reborn

Sometimes you have to be able to experience the worst of it
To come back shining brighter than before
And if she had died that cold day in October, she wouldn't of ever seen the best of it
Or known that it would get better
and it did!

And she now sits at her laptop, with a smile on her face and warmth in her heart
It's never been an easy road and it won't ever be
But at least she knows she's lived through the worst
And it can only get better from here

So whenever she feels lonely or gets back into that dark spot again
She can look back on what she's learned and can read this poem
And remember that she survived the darkest depths of depression
And she will continue to survive it as long as she lives
Because she is stronger now than she ever was before ?

Copyright © Darian Rehder | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Langeni Mate | Details |

Unspoken Words VIII - Credit Love

I don't want to start with those cliché things but please believe me when I say I don't know what love is, I'm just trying to get my own opinion through. Credit Love. Funny enough I think love is like a business, you sell your heart to your partner whilst he or she pays you back in instalments. It could take 3 months or 3 years. They say all businesses have a Debtors Collection Schedule so consider your partner as one. He or she pays you a bit of love back every month and when it's finally over there's a piece of you that's gone. Call it Bad Debts shall we?

So you gave him 100 and he only returned 98. So now what happens? I always say if it's not 100 percent then there's room for improvement but what's there to improve? The way you love, show affection or the way you had an effect on him cause clearly you were nothing. Yes you were nothing cause there's no thing that you need to make yourself whole. 98 percent I said right? Okay let's take a kid from 98. Her heart gets broken and it's filled with a Soul Tie so she dates a 92 to feel 100 again. The love she now has is artificial. Listen closely now it's artificial. Yes it ain't official because she stopped thinking with her mind. What ever happened to the Mind, Heart and Body? If you don't mind what your heart looks like it'll affect your body. If you don't mind what you're body looks like it'll affect your heart.

So you should watch what you do. Think before you do but don't do your past thoughts because everything transforms if left for too long. You just have to Notice. Notice how life is better with No Ties and yes Ice Tea is Not Ice. Notice, No Ties, Not Ice. Matter of fact I don't understand why you enjoy these network dating sites. You think you speaking to someone of age. Nice fresh 24 year old. Thick, curves for weeks. But then when you finally meet her she forgot to tell you that her numbers got swopped around and she has a kid your age. It's harder for the girls. They ask for pictures and believe what they see. But they don't know that there's this new thing called Identity Theft. Yes it's called Identity Theft. I don't think you're listening closely because this is broken English, I Dent It, He Theft. It's a big tournament and the winner gets to be called Mr. Populator. Kids at 14 just want to Pop You Later? What is our world becoming?

So this Identify Theft has stolen the meaning of the word love. Girl loses her virginity and the guy picks up the scraps. Guys call it Credit Love but how can you begin to repay something that is not even refundable? This game has become a drug guys so let me be your conscience. Girls are becoming immune to your games because they absorb things that happen over and over and over again. So next time you take that girl's virginity you should tell yourself that you could get killed. Why? Ask the same guy who took that girl's virginity but still has Aids. Maybe you want to look at it as an investment. R500 bucks a month on compound interest. The same works girls. Heart gets broken every month to 2 years so when it finally matures those 24 hearts have now become 30 and you can't handle it. You thought it was impossible. Personally I think impossible should be removed from the dictionary. See English is a funny language, they forgot to put the apostrophe in impossible to tell you that it actually means that I. Am. Possible. 

People today are not able to pass the bible. Instead they get tattoos and like to call it Tribal. Spending thousands and thousands of rands decorating something that won't leave you so Credit Love, who are you going to sell your heart to? If that person across the street tells you that he or she likes you tell them that all the money in the world, regardless of the currency, can be taken and given to you but it won't even be a deposit. Why? Because you are priceless. See God made you out of materialistic things. Why? To show you that He's already given you enough so why should you be searching for more? I ask you once more, Credit Love, who are you going to sell your heart to? 

Wonderful people of PoetrySoup!!! Find more of my poems on my Facebook page Poetically Abstract. Thanks for your support!!

Copyright © Langeni Mate | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

Went Fishin'

Submitted to the "Gone Fishin" contest

Trollin’ the islands at Texoma,
It was April, 1964.
New rod and reel in hand,
I’d NEVER been fishing before.

A Garcia 2510T casting rod.
The reel, a Mitchell 301,
Plus hand-selected worms and lures…
I was ready to have some fun.

My teacher, a master fisherman,
Had fished all over the earth...
From trout in Austrian mountain streams
To sea bass just west of Perth.

He showed me all the basics,
Including how to tie a lure.
“No snaps. They’re no good.
Tie’em on…just to be sure.”

He made me practice casting.
“Take aim with your rod’s tip 
Take her back - ten, eleven, twelve, one;
Smoothly return to ten… with just a little flip.”

While I practiced the casting motion,
He said, “Large Mouths will be jumpin’ bugs.
Water’s bubblin’ with Sand Bass spawnin’.
You’ll know the difference if one gives you a tug.”

As we drifted around the islands,
He said, “I think you’re ready.”
So, I picked a lure, a pretty Heddon;
And tied her on.  My hands were steady.

Yellow with black dots and a weed guard. 
A streamer tail and double treble hooks.
Who knew if she would do the job,
But I liked the way she looked.

As I tied her on, I looked around
For a likely place for my first cast.
Magazine pictures always showed weeds
In the background of a striking Bass.

So, I picked a reed bed in the shallows;
Threw my first cast, watched her fly.
What happened next was the stuff of dreams.
We couldn’t believe our eyes. 

About eighteen inches before she lit,
A monstrous Large Mouth erupted from the water.
My teacher screamed, “Holy Mary, Mother of God!  
Kiss O’Reilly’s Ugly Daughter!”

When the Bass broke water, it scared me. 
My whole body jerked and shook.
So sudden, so silent, it seemed like slow motion.
Until I heard him screaming, “Set the hook!  Set the hook!”

When the big Bass scared me,
I must have set the hook.
The tussle was on, long and hard.
This fish didn’t want to be cooked.

My lack of skills prevailed, however,
As I finally reeled him in;
I grabbed him by the lower lip,
Like I’d seen Don Wallace do, time and time again.

“Oh, my God”, he murmured as he weighed the Bass;
“Jeez.  Over thirteen pounds....Thirteen pounds, two.”
He took out his Polaroid and laughed, 
“I’ll take a picture of this fish... holdin' you.”

He snapped the picture of me holding the Bass;
On the back wrote the date, the length and weight.
As he turned to put the camera away……
Get ready.  This is the part that’s great.

I’d watched Don Wallace ‘catch and release’.
He always did that on his show.
“This fish put up a good fight.” he’d say;
“Now it’s time to let him go.”

Yes, as my teacher put away the camera,
I held the big Bass by the lower lip and tail
And ‘swished’ him in the water,
Making sure his gills would not fail.

My teacher turned and saw what I was doing
Just as I let the big Bass go.
This, too, was like slow motion
As I heard him screaming, “NOOOOOOO!”

“Why would you do that, Lad?
Do ya know nothin’ at all?
A fish like that... on your very first cast?
Well...Lad, that fish goes on the wall.”

“Well…he’ll be here next year.” I said with a smile,
“And even bigger, I’ll bet.”
He said, ”You’ll make a fisherman, Lad.
It’s not for the fish that we fish…

but for the great stories we get.” 

I still have that lure…and the rod and reel.
Still in their bags and boxes, just like new.
I thought about selling them on eBay,
But 50 years later, they have sentimental value.

You see…I’ve been invited to go fishin’ several times
By golfin’ buddies and other friends;
But for some reason…I really don’t know why…
I’ve never gone fishin’ again.

They say, “Truth is stranger than fiction.”
And I believe that is a fact.
I hope you enjoyed this bit of truth and,
In the meantime…..”Ya’ll come back!”

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Keith Trestrail | Details |

Ballad of Trinidad

 Remember when days were long
   and all de children do is play:
 or how de burnin sun hot like fire
   and snow cone ice melt away,
 when I was a wee lad in Trinidad

 And licks fuh so in de bam bam
   if I do or say I right when I wrong!
 Playin cricket in de front yard
   in ragged shirt and watchicong,
 wit my bat and pad in Trinidad

 Hear de dogs of Independence,
  "masser's day has come" dey bark,
 and snarl "now we in charge!"
   But all dey do is fete and skylark,
 dats why tings bad in Trinidad

 Den me faddah "really speakin"...
   and me muddah, how she grieve:
"aye yah yie, it time to vamoose...
   oh time to leave",
 dat all hell gone mad in Trinidad

 I say to she "yuh makin joke!
   Mummy, what is dis tomfoolery?"
 Man, next ting I know I on a boat
   past de Bocas headin out to sea,
 and I was sad to leave Trinidad

 Dey get vex and riot in de street,
   trow stick, pelt stone, and cuss;
 shout "Black Power...Malcolm X..."
   PNM say "why all yuh makin fuss?"
 But tings get real bad in Trinidad

 Trinis start to swell up dey face
   and ax demself "is all yuh fuh real?"
 Criminals was skinnin dey teet
   burnin and lootin lookin to steal -
 destroyin what we had in Trinidad

 But I would from my exile return
   de land of rapso, kaiso, and calypso!
 Where de panman play, "padna"
   and de Cahneeval jumpin fuh so,
 den I was glad to see Trinidad

 Back to limin on sandy beach
   wit buss-up and shark 'n bake...
 drinkin rum, Carib, and Stag spyin
   all de girls backside shake!
 Girls sweet too bad in Trinidad

 If yuh see party fuh so in East
   or fete in de village dong Sout;
 and Jouvay dawn at Pelican Inn
   till Road March jump and shout,
 dis is de lime I had in Trinidad

 Me faddah, he like de ole talk,
   de ghost of Jumbie Bridge in he head.
"Murder!" He laugh at all dem Trinis
   and how dey all "fraid de dead!"
 in Big Bertha clad from Trinidad

 He tink of tings back home like
   when de plum and de mango ripe;
"jeez-an-wrinkles!" He bol face say
   how "crapo smoke yuh pipe!"
 God bless my dad from Trinidad

 Man, he steups so and he say "boy,
   Trinidad full of ba'john and ole tief!
 Riddled wit crime and corruption...
   warahouns in charge, good grief!"
 And for all dis I sad for Trinidad

 Me muddah too, she say to me
  "hold strain and calm yuhself chile!"
 She say "son, doh be a saga boy,
   doh flash and doh make style"
 lest you be a cad from Trinidad

 Man, de whole place gone to hell
   and dey doh know how to fix she;
 all de younger generation fuhget 
   what it mean to be a Trini -
 to be proud and glad in Trinidad

 Now dey pull out cutlass and gun
   if on dey tail yuh lash out and cuff!
 Man, dese days no-one safe at all,
   Trins fed-up and had enough!
 How tings get so mad in Trinidad

 All yuh in T 'n T so blasted vex
   at de government and Manning,
 but in trute yuh still like to fete
   and drink and lime and ting,
 den bawl bobbol bad in Trinidad

 It jus like back in de Canboulay
   when de lawless slaves run wild,
 or in de dark days of rebellion
   and uprisin when I was a child,
 when tings went rad in Trinidad

 A pelau or buljol in yuh mout -
   sorrel, mauby, or a ginger beers;
 gimme pastelle and ponchecrema 
   from Christmas to Ole Years!
 Dis is de taste I had of Trinidad

 De Spanish come, de French too -
   boy, de British dey bring a queen:
 dat was way back when dis island
   was de jewel of de Caribbean,
 way before I was a lad in Trinidad


              January 2009


Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Sydney Newell | Details |


I know you’re happy,

Guess I’m stuck bein’ me,

Guess I stay missin’ out on chances that I couldn’t see.

But in the meantime,

Keep your head,

And know I’m doin’ just fine.

You know, maybe I’ll get lucky and catch you around sometime.

I don’t mean to cry.

Guess catchin’ up was a bad idea anyways,

Just know if you catch me in the hall, I’m lookin out for those better days,

Better ways to be a better person. 

Maybe it’s high time I stop lurkin’ your profile,

Reminiscin’ on the days when I used to make you smile.

So, don’t be too upset when you hear this.

I’m only trying to salvage what’s left of my spirits.

But I guess if you cared,

It’d be more apparent.

Nowadays you can’t trust your friends, your teachers, or your parents.

You’ve got high expectations kid,

Well people disappoint.

And it’s kinda sad seeing how I have to make that point.

Oh and it shakes my joints to know,

Nothing is for real these days,

No one means what they say,

It’s just all part of the show.

So, why even bother to get to know me?

When you throw stones,

And you perceive,

You make judgements,

And believe

There could be nothing more to this reality than exactly what you see in front of you.

I am nobody,

An object of translucency,

But in my dreams,

I could paint you a galaxy of words,

Speaking in tongues, writing in verses you’ve never heard.

I am cured,

From a  dehydration of self worth.

A place where no one’s jealous grip could rip me back down to earth,

Where I stare at the dirt on the ground,

And think maybe to be underneath wouldn’t be half as bad as it sounds these days.

So as this sphere makes its rounds and stays spinnin’,

The sun will continue to look down and keep grinnin’,

But perhaps I’ve grown to comfortable drowning in linen,

Chained in place to my bed,

With nothing to play with but the soft grey matter in the space in my head,

In the hopes that I’ll weave and thread it back together,

My mother she asks me,

But this time how do I tell her,

I’m way past the point of feeling under the weather.

And the thing is I know better,

But who can really say they take their own advice?

When it’s so easy to put a price on something invaluable,

Too afraid to work too hard,

To reach what’s potential.

See, it’s that kind of detrimental thinking,

That keeps us up on weeknights drinking,

Way past curfew,

Because if your parents only knew,

The sense of doom that grew inside your room,

Patiently waiting for those creeping, solitary thoughts to consume you,

Without a place to hide,

If they only knew,

That’s what kept you up at night,

I’m sure they’d understand,

What it’s like to be held by that ever pressing hand,

With its thumb against your throat,

Wishing with the highest hopes that you’d sooner choke,

Than to be just another kid stoked,

On being the butt of everyone's joke,

Just another drop out reeking of marijuana smoke,

Another baby doll,

A habit of adderall withdrawal,

And while I listen to the girl posted up in the stall next to me,

Throwing up her last meal,

I ponder all the things people would do just to feel something, 

To find meaning,

To know they were more than a lifeless puppet,

God manipulating their strings,

So her up chuck and bad luck,

They burn and they sting,

The sloshes and dry heaves,

They only ring out and sing,


Copyright © Sydney Newell | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Elliott Lyngreen | Details |

The Difference in the Stories We Want to Tell

Ohh I could have sat with my heart 
--elevated with dribbled echoes-- 
ahhhhhh until it yet exhaled the tarnished seams 
capturing only the quiet current lapping
and soaking dirty steel embankment	
along the river’s edge beneath the elevators 
and rusted railway overpass.. listening
as if the very markings and where they were; 
was the point we reached.

But the difference in the stories we want to tell 
and the ones we hear ourselves tell to others 
or even the stories we tell to ourselves
are not the ones that actually happen
but the ones we hope get told about ourselves.

And from the dragged busy avenues 
Elliott’s is lingering, scorching, 
scrapping placed black glances 
at the difference which came in-between 
looks all around; when his body was found;
so the driving but squeezed remains 
that forms the murky waste, leaking out,
resituates away from that easy smack-like 
wake from motors fishtailed in two sets 
slipped through to the ends of the river 
not only smaller than we were
before or within the mainstream surrounding, 
but finer in every such note 
and so much more perfectly 
in slow-mo oddity than the overgrowth 
of foliage, and into that which will be told.

Has ever found thee exact sounds
so singly in the noises as that whispering...
and where it goes when pulled without hesitating, 
you know in the rifts against echoes
dribbling up to the suspended girders
crossing the murky rivers 
to where the old muffling coursing veins, 
ripped off in visions and the 
anticipations and expectations in your head… 
ever even came so close to
so close to the conclusions? 

Yet in the swift side-vanished sky like wet pavement
but wet against the embankment, it dries
on in an afternoon of no humidity…. finally evaporates, 
over and over lapping different intervals,
the ceaseless figuring where the world, 
where every second instantly goes, dried
turning distorted there in the levels 
marvelously skimmed amidst memory; 
stones worth plucking and thrown
just over the very edge 
and almost displaying the wavery stain 
the rotten that seems brilliantly with near looks 
at the river, as the thin air carved upon it, 
and the little slick gleams of algae
and smooth enormous stacks billowing 
so repetitively with sad-shaped exhausting…
and tough cracks and windshields 
of broken cars, cranked glares near hard looks; 
as if the science ever inside of them literatures 
of our fantastic drag towards them
knew with impossible expectations 
that gets pulled away from 
oh how I suppose this sort of thing 
is supposed to go;
and into the very real dream the poet
could have reasoned, to go…

Songsmith sung that ever-longing undone;
for an explanation,– 
finds that long lost answer 
and with that fled so so long 
so so long ago to thee ends of so so far away… 
and unravels there … over and over;
at the metal corners of the enormous sections 
of the state of the proverbial peaceful 
miniature edges running beside themselves;
that enormous scraping, listening to him
around the uneven like dark shadows 
at the weed cut-up back shoulders
that fall apart further in the seams above;
sitting where split beams violate visions 
through these white streams careening any which way 
upon an invisibly shaping formation 
and coloring the ever-bending 
turned like a spoon round into a bowl of water; 
that ruptured crooked, flowing impression.

Copyright © Elliott Lyngreen | Year Posted 2017

Long Poems